When Hope Fails
by Vaeyana
Summary: In the dark, he screams. Outside the window, the moon rises, full and harsh in its brilliant, primeval beauty. As the first fingers of light creep over the sill, he succumbs. The pain begins, as the beast within him awakes.


When Hope Fails, Resignation Begins

When Hope Fails, Resignation Begins

In the dark, he sits.

The walls surrounding him are cold; dark stone broken only by the tiniest of windows, set high and unreachable. Long, deep, irregularly-set gouges mar the wall's otherwise smooth surface, reminders of the pain to come. With heightened senses, he scents the dank air, the salt of tears and the rancid stink of fear. In the dark, he remembers. He remembers a night of fear, of change and of tears and sweat, dread and desperate flight. A night which changed his life forever, in a rush of matted fur and a flash of dripping, glinting fangs in a cavernous maw. He remembers eyes—dark, tinged blood-red, dilated in the ecstasy of pain, fear and maddened slaughter. Now, in the dark, he laughs—a hollow, false sound, sharp and abrupt, a poor imitation. It is at once a sound of desperation and bitter resignation.

In the dark, he waits.

Leaning back against the frigid stone, he remembers he first of many, too many, such waits. It was the fear of the unknown, he reflects, with the clarity that comes with adrenaline-bringing terror which was his greatest fear—of not knowing what, or when, or why. This fear overrode all other thoughts, torturing, trapping and driving him wild, until, couched low in a corner, he screamed for his mother, his father, or anyone at all to hold and sooth him until he forgot his fear. He screamed until his voice grew hoarse and broken, before finally ceasing. No one ever came. They too, were terrified of what he'd become—what he was about to become.

Now, he sits alone, as he has done for countless nights, resigned, yet not accepting his fate.

In the dark, he screams.

Outside the window, the moon rises, full and harsh in its brilliant, primeval beauty. As the first fingers of light creep over the sill, he succumbs. The pain begins, as the beast within him awakes. The pain is like nothing else he has ever experienced. It begins suddenly, as a sharp, piercing jolt deep within his chest, steadily growing in intensity until he can do no more than moan aloud, for it hurts too much to scream. He wants nothing more, as his blood boils in his veins and his bones break, than to die. Throwing himself on the floor he writhes, limbs elongating before his eyes, distorted behind partially-closed lids. The moon has now fully risen and shines into his cell, throwing shadows on the walls, dark twisted shapes, which mirror, all about him, his pain. He growls as hair sprouts all over his now changed limbs, covering his body in coarse, dark grey fur. With a final, resounding _crack_, his jaw breaks, reforming as a long, pointed muzzle. His transformation complete, he screams, revealing a mouth filled with fangs sharp as knives, each full of the life-changing nectar of re-birth—or the venom of death.

In the dark, he rages.

He can scent the warm sweetness of human flesh, waiting beyond the room—so close and yet so far. In his frenzied lust for blood, he throws himself at the walls, frantically scraping at the stone, new marks joining countless others. Gradually though, his attacks diminish, as a new pull takes hold. Rising, he turns to face the window, the full moon beyond shining in the heavens, a beacon to his kind. As he faces his destiny, he throws back his head and howls, resigned to his fate.

In the light, he sleeps.

As the moon recedes and the pale dawn invades the darkness of night, he stands and braces himself for the pain of returning. It is less painful, the transition from beast to man. It is almost as if much of the pain is due to the emotional dread and fear to the physical changes, as if the pain is a physical representation of his self-loathing. As the lucidity of his human mind returns, he wonders if he is being punished. He wonders why. He collapses, feeling restored with the touch of cold, unyielding stone on trembling, naked human limbs. Shivering in the aftermath of his transformation, he closes his eyes to sleep until they come to bring him back, back to a world where he lives in constant fear and dread, always awaiting the next call of the moon, a slave to its celestial glory.

In the light, he waits.


End file.
